


He Falls to His Knees

by Hoppskibjack



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Hatari (Band)
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Character Study, Dom/sub, Euphoria Just Not the Song, Flogging, Gen, Klemens and Ronja are together, Leather, Minor Character(s), No Sex, Non-Sexual Bondage, Prequel, Rope Bondage, Soft Drinks, Subspace, Suspension, There Be Icelandic in this Here Fic, drink water, hatari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoppskibjack/pseuds/Hoppskibjack
Summary: Filming of Hatari'sSpillingardansmusic video has wrapped and now Klemens, free from his rope bondage needs to go out and find a little (more) trouble.





	He Falls to His Knees

**Author's Note:**

> Please research and trust your gut when it comes to BDSM. Thank you to the wonderful hatari-translations on tumblr for fixing and helping with the Icelandic. 
> 
> The two stories that make up this series, this story and the story that follows it [You Watched Me Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19580455) are meant to represent two different aspects of a BDSM fantasia - heaven and hell. It is intended as a tribute to Hatari, and in particular to their very important message that consent is key in BDSM. And unfortunately, not every BDSM interaction in real life is quite as respectful of consent as it should be, so we wrote these stories to make the point: where there is consent, it is heaven; where there is not, it is hell. Please remember that as you read these fics. Many thanks to white_cicatrice for her wonderful story - this was a very fun collaboration!
> 
> This is step one of the plan and I can assure you that everything is (so far) going according to plan.

“That’s a wrap!” 

A smattering of applause rang through the small Icelandic BDSM club as final shots were checked and the director made sure that no additional pick-ups were needed. From his spot, upside down and suspended, Klemens could watch the club members helping Einar off the racks. He wasn’t in a hurry to right himself and had waved the club member assigned to monitor his well-being over to Matti first who needed two people to release him from the bondage cocoon he was encased in. 

Aside from the blood rushing to his head (or maybe because of it) he felt great. He wanted to stay suspended as long as possible. This would be the first time he could enjoy the sensation without having to lip sync to a song and keep track of where the camera was. It was kind of like flying, being suspended, now that the rope had settled against his skin and the biting had mostly stopped. Even as his extremities began to tingle a little he was able to settle into a peaceful sway at the end of his tether; his hands skimming the floor. 

“Your turn, Klemens.” 

Just like that the bubble burst, his club assistant was back to end his fun, and he had to swallow a sigh. The last thing he wanted was to seem ungrateful to the club or its members for letting them shoot here, but he wanted a little longer, just a few more minutes. He was starting to feel light-headed, and he wanted to see what sensation came next. Still, he didn’t protest and let himself be helped right-side up. It was only a moment before the rope was loosened and his feet eventually touched the smooth floor. 

“Er allt í lagi?” The other man inquired, releasing Klemens’ shoulder and reaching down to untie and coil the rope. Even while he was coiling the rope he was checking in and the question about his well-being hung in the air. 

“Já.” Klemens reassured the other man quickly, bracing a hand on the wall and ducking his head down as the blood started to reorient itself. “I’m OK.” He affirmed himself in English when the look of doubt stared back at him. Why he responded in English he didn’t know, he knew the other man spoke Icelandic. He figured his brain was still working through the chemicals the shoot had created and left it at that. He pulled on trousers and boots, pausing slightly as reddened skin skimmed the fabric and then a shirt that he had stuffed into a bag with the rest of their gear. The weather had promised to be nice today, but not nice enough to wander the streets of Reykjavik bare-chested. Who trusted the weather predictions anyway? He thanked the club assistant again, this time in his native tongue and grabbed his bag from the pile of gear. 

He had barely taken two steps before he was giving a quick hug to Einar before he left. 

“Going out tonight?” Einar still had the contacts in, although the mask was off and hanging from one hand. Klemens had to chuckle at the gentle voice combined with the demonic stare. The Hatari drummer gave a quick gesture to the surrounding equipment, “maybe for more fun?”

“Kaaaannski...” Was the shorter man’s reply, it was an attempt at being coy when both men already knew the answer. There was no maybe. He conceded. “Just a little trouble.” 

“Farðu varlega.” More of a caring reminder than an admonishment, ‘be careful’ was as close as he’d get to disagreement about where he was going. The group’s ability to care about each other was just as evident ‘off-stage’ as it was ‘on’. The director came over to thank them both and when he turned to speak with Einar before he left, Klemens took the opportunity to slip away. 

He crossed the room, a wave and a “bless” directed at him from some of the group as they started to pick up and leave. He had seen Matti out of the corner of his eye watching Klemens’ and Einar’s conversation as he talked to one of the camera people. They always looked out for each other, they had since they were kids, he would be more concerned if his cousin wasn’t making sure everything was okay in his own way. This look, however, may have been more of an ask for him to help end the conversation he was embroiled in. Plot for the evening he reminded himself: He would save Matti and then go out for a few hours. 

He set a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, giving it a gentle massage and sliding closer as Matthias continued his conversation. If it bothered Matti he didn’t show it, it was unlikely that it did, but it did encourage the camera person to pause and then wrap up what he was talking about. It wasn’t long before the camera person thanked him and went back to the director. Matti turned to look at him, a look of thank you on his face that didn’t need to be spoken. He looked far less tired than most of the crew.

“Ég er að fara heim,” Klemens began with a gesture towards the door. He was interrupted and with a smile he gave a wave to another person who had helped with the shoot as they crossed in front of them. His attention turned back to his cousin, continuing in English. “Talk to you tomorrow?” 

“Are you actually going home or just back out for more?” Matthias asked and Klemens could see the smile waiting on his cousin’s face. There was only so long someone could keep a straight face when they wanted to burst out laughing and it wasn’t always the easiest thing for him. “Too much of a good thing Klemens.” 

“Já.” Klemens admitted. Matthias knew something was up. “The difference is, this is research, Matti.” He was rather proud that he thought of that. “For the show.”

“Farðu varlega.” Matthias said, echoing Einar’s earlier comment. 

“Bless.” Klemens waved a hand, of course he would be careful. He turned on his heels and exited the warm building, walking out into the cool air.

\--------

Some time later, Klemens stood outside the private club across the city staring at the entrance with his heart pounding in his chest. His hand unconsciously squeezed his mobile phone as the debate raged on in his brain about whether to actually go through with this. He should really call Ronja and let her know where he was. That thought sprang unbidden into his mind, and he briefly closed his eyes. No, it was better if he didn’t. He wasn’t trying to hide anything, she knew he was dabbling, but calling now didn’t feel right. Besides, she had been having problems with her phone and planned to get it exchanged, there was a chance that hadn’t even happened yet. With a sigh he settled on the reasoning that if she was worried she’d contact Einar or Matthías. 

He wasn’t going to stay long, he reassured himself for the hundredth time since he had left the video shoot, just long enough to work off the energy from the shoot and chase down a few sensations. As he had told Einar, he just wanted a little bit of trouble. It was research. 

He tucked his phone away, took a deep breath and pushed open the main door.

The restraints closed around his wrists, the leather still slightly stiff and creaking as they were secured. Klemens tested the bonds, pulling against them and wriggling to see them remain stubbornly where they were put. They had a little give to them, enough that someone might think just maybe, with small wrists and persistence they could actually get free. Satisfied at the helplessness he relaxed into the rack, where he was positioned bare chested and face down on the structure to give the man behind him access to his back. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before the flogger’s tresses fell and the sweet sting crawled up his nerves. The flogger had a bite just as the Dom had warned him it would before he was set up on the rack. Klemens was coming to appreciate that accented sting as the swings sped up and the blows landed closer and closer together. Back of the shoulders, meat of the back, lower back, ass… the list of targets circled in his mind from earlier in the day during the video shoot when he was wielding the single tail striking Matthias. Never the spine, stay away from liver and kidneys. Knowing this “trade secret” took nothing away from the experience however, if anything it made him appreciate it all the more. The Dominant had skill. 

Each blow slightly overlapped the last, making a trail across his flesh that began as a thump and then burned as it sat on his skin. He closed his eyes, willing away the other sounds and sensations except that burn that all too quickly turned back into a throb. It hurt. 

“Fuck.” The profanity slipped out, barely audible amidst the sound of grunting, breathing and the impact of leather on skin. He growled, arching his back and chasing it with a moan as the tresses doubled back. It hurt... it was getting to be too much… He pressed himself against the rack, his breathing getting harsher. 

Then the implement of torture changed. There was only a split-second pause as the biting tresses were replaced by the first strike of a single tail leather whip which made the singer gasp. He had just gotten used to the sting and this was something else entirely. 

Each blow made Klemens gasp. The impact drove out a breath, then replaced it with heat and intense sensation. Was this as far as he could go? Had Matthias hurt this much? He hadn’t been striking him nearly as hard as the man behind him was, but he had gotten a good arm workout. The man paused, running a leather covered hand down his back, smoothing the burning across the surface of his flesh. Klemens was reminded of the flames licking across his skin from the alcohol swipes hours before. 

“Can I continue?” The man’s voice was surprisingly gentle, lightly accented in English and Klemens turned his head towards him. It was especially gentle for someone who looked like he could snap Klemens in half. 

All his negotiations up until this point had been with another person, smoothing out limits and why he was there. Still, he was grateful for the check-in, consent was important. That had been repeated endlessly today. 

“Já.” Klemens nodded, resting his cheek against the cool metal as the first beads of sweat began to trickle down his forehead and onto his cheeks. 

“Yes, what? Answer properly.” The fingers that once were rubbing gently, now dug into his flesh to punctuate the command. 

“Já herra.” The words ‘yes sir’ stuttered out in Icelandic, as a little pool of arousal now grew in his stomach. 

That seemed to be what he wanted as the single tail started again without another word and the tears that were clinging to the corner of Klemens’ eyes started to fall. He pressed his cheek against the rack, relishing the one bit of relief he had in the cool touch of the metal on his skin, even as the impact from the single tail traveled down to his ass. He let out a ragged breath, watching the dancing shadow of the flogger out of the corner of his eye as the sound repeated. Leather on skin, it cracked again and again. 

He was starting to feel light-headed, like the feeling he experienced hanging upside in the suspension rig at the other club. Klemens was about to stop everything, he felt so overwhelmed, but that’s when the fire seemed to settle in his skin and crawl underneath it. It burrowed into his nerves and numbed the spot that had screamed for his attention before. He felt lighter, not just in his head, but everywhere all at once. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time and he felt himself pushing his back and ass towards the whip instead of dancing away from it. 

It was like angels dancing on the head of a pin, and he was the pin. 

He was pretty sure that if he wasn’t tied to a rack in a BDSM club he would be able to write poetry that would impress Matthias. Words just flowed. He had a thousand different lyric ideas swimming in his head altogether, creating thoughts and sounds that had never existed before. It was like he had suddenly realized that being alive was about floating in the largest, warmest thermal pool, and he had never dipped in a toe before now. His back was starting to numb, but his body kept pumping adrenaline and endorphins into his bloodstream soothing away his troubles and his worries. 

That’s when, pardon the pun, it hit him. It didn’t hurt anymore. 

A moment of bliss as the last few strikes of the single tail left red welts where only light bruising was before. Those could be easily covered up, even in his stage wear. He didn’t care about that right now, he only cared about the feeling of the other man’s hands smoothing the skin and encouraging the blood to circulate, discouraging bruising and making it hurt so it would hurt less later. It was like the most intense, the best massage he had ever received and although the man was saying something in some language he should understand, was that Icelandic? It sounded like he was chanting… It was so strange… he stayed silent to hear it properly. 

Or, he thought he stayed silent. It took a moment for him to realize that he was the one repeating his thanks, saying “takk” over and over again. The massaging fingers were gently carding through his hair and Klemens tipped his head back to watch him. They made eye contact and Klemens stopped his thankful chant, letting out a long breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The restraints were now open, hanging as loose as the leather would allow. When did that happen? Klemens couldn’t help but rub his face with his hands. He had been unaware of an itch until the second he was able to scratch his face. 

“How are you feeling?” The other man asked. 

Klemens couldn’t quite focus, the world was kind of fuzzy and blurry, but that didn’t affect his answer. Once he fully understood the question, the translation wasn’t quite there yet, had that been English, he answered. “Dásamlega.” Amazing. Extraordinary, wonderful, blissed out, his brain continued silently… Like he was on stage with everyone watching him, he wanted to add. That comparison swam up to his brain and did laps around it, he grinned a sleepy kind of satisfied smile. 

The other man cracked half a smile in return, the first time he had smiled since they had begun, Klemens noted. “Good. People don’t usually go so deep, so quickly. There is water just outside the door, please drink lots of water.” He offered a hand and helped Klemens off the rack and back onto his feet. Klemens made no effort to protest. The world seemed to right itself when his feet touched the floor and a bit of the fog lightened. “Take it slow. Stay away from alcohol for tonight. Your coat and bag are just by the door. Call the club if you have any problems tomorrow, OK?” 

“Já.” Klemens was shrugging his coat on, wincing as the pain was very slowly starting to bubble up to the surface again. Still, he was smiling, and he felt amazing despite everything. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m sure you will, you did well,” the other man said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder, making him take notice that he was at least as tall as Einar, if not taller without boots. He also made a mental note that the chest harness he usually wore might work better for their show, if he spaced it out like the other man’s was. He wasn’t really cognizant of these thoughts, but they filed themselves away for later use, like the schematics for a sedan chair he had been examining before the music video recording. 

The two men hugged and Klemens, carrying his bag instead of putting it on his shoulder, quickly and quietly left the club and went to the bar a few doors down. 

The place was busy, a mix of locals and tourists that were willing to blend in rather than take photos of everything. There was good music and energetic, happy people his age milled around in small groups. He stayed near the bar at first, getting used to standing again and wondering in the back of his mind if anyone knew what he had just been through. Did they know someone had just flogged the hell out of his back? He had smelled the tang of antiseptic at one point, and he was now wondering if there had been blood. 

The noise in the bar was at a comfortable level, slightly above speaking, and he was staring at a menu, so the first few times the woman tried to grab his attention he didn’t hear her. It also didn’t help that she was asking for him as Mr. Hannigan, so the one time he did hear her in his euphoric state he ignored her, wondering who that was and if he was going to answer this woman. 

“Klemens!” 

He turned towards the sound, a voice that didn’t sound local, but didn’t carry some of the harsher notes English could deliver. 

“Hae?” 

“Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you? You’re probably here with friends and I’m interrupting, I’m so sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine. Can I help you?” 

“I’m a big fan of yours, and of Hatari,” she quickly added. “I just wondered if I could buy you a drink to say thanks. Is the rest of the band here too?”

Really, a fan? A clearly not local fan? Klemens’ mind turned, and he wondered if she really would have bought the rest of the band drinks too, if they had been there. Would she have so eagerly bought Ronja a drink? A flash of something in the pit of his stomach, jealousy or worry or irritation sat there like a rock, and he faked a smile to cover it. While he was by no means in his on stage persona right now, he was forcing himself to be a little more courteous than he wanted to be. The heightened state from the beating helped, too. “Just me. I can’t stay long, but one drink is fine.” 

She seemed extremely happy about his acceptance of her offer and Klemens took a moment while she was ordering at the bar to look back towards the other side of the city, in the direction of the club he had just left and let his brain marinate in his experience there under the flogger and the whip. He could feel the heat under his shirt from the heated skin. That was when he realized he had forgotten to get water before he left the club.

So, when she came back with two soft drinks he quickly drank some of his, draining almost a third of the glass to two of her small sips. He sighed, thirst momentarily quenched and happily smiled back at the fan.


End file.
